


Surrender

by Desidera



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Dark Pride of Dimensions Drabble Night, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 19:42:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30026883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desidera/pseuds/Desidera
Summary: Prompt: Chesswordcount: 1500 (a Celtic Guardian)
Relationships: Atem/Kaiba Seto, Atem/Priest Seto, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi | Atem
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Dark Pride of Dimensions Drabble Night Collection





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: mentions of death (canonical)

It was far too hot even in the shade. 

Seto furtively wiped his brow, waiting as Atem contemplated his turn. 

"We should play at night," he grumbled, more to himself, as the topic had been brought up before. 

"I have better things in mind for the night," Atem muttered, distractedly, eyes on the board. 

Seto sighed, not particularly tempted by the prospect of what Atem was suggesting now that the merciless rays of Ra were scorching auburn planes and searing pallid sandstone, now that the linen of his shendyt was damp and clinging to his thighs, the fabric trapped between skin and stone, uncomfortably chafing. 

Atem moved his bishop but Seto caught the almost imperceptible twitch of his hand towards the knight. It told him enough about Atem's strategy to be certain of his next move. 

The steatite rook captured the mulberry-fig bishop that had so boldly ventured into its range on the makeshift board drawn with chalk on slate. His still pale but slowly tanning fingers exchanged the pieces on the square with a flick, feeling the wood he had carved two weeks ago sun warmed and soft in his palm. (It was Monday the 22nd in Domino, he was meticulously keeping track, hoping that the timelines of their dimensions aligned) 

The texture of wood or stone in his hand being shaped into designs of his envisioning had been unfamiliar compared to that of metal and wire during the days before. Nonetheless, both tasks had been accomplished faster than he had imagined, despite the lack of modern tools. He had toyed with the thought of making a chess board too but had ultimately been less compelled to do so. There was something… less permanent in drawing the board anew for every game. He had a perfectly fine chess board at home, after all. 

Atem's poker face was almost perfect, but Seto had had ample time to study his already familiar expression anew during various sorts of games - Duel Monsters at nighttime, a leisurely board game during the sweltering hours of the early afternoon. The Pharaoh's bishop had been a needless sacrifice, a decoy that had failed to distract Seto, that he had recognised as harmless and captured indifferently instead of playing into Atem's plan to bring his knight in position. 

Atem played unconventionally, learning by trial and error, but steadily so, and Seto knew it would take only a few weeks until he was yet again facing a worthy adversary, an equal, in this game of his choice. His only comfort was that he had mastered senet equally quickly, albeit with the help of the… memories… he had acquired upon arrival. 

A drop of sweat was trailing down Atem's temple. 

"Check," Seto announced to the glistening spot on otherwise unblemished skin that was tempting his lips to capture it. "Will be 'mate' in three more turns."

With a sigh, Atem placed his hands left and right of the board, pushing himself forward to intently study the game, looking for something, anything, Seto might have overlooked. Seto smirked, knowing it was in vain. 

Huffing a quiet breath of defeat, Atem looked up to meet his eyes. "It's surprising that your people call someone they have just defeated a 'mate' - but I admire the spirit."

"Ah, there's an entirely different meaning to this," Seto explained, wondering privately if Atem's use of the words ' _ your  _ people' suggested that he did not consider them  _ his  _ and had no desire to be a part of  _ their _ society ever again. 

"Oh?" Atem cocked his head in mild curiosity, drawing out the lost game.

"It's derived from the Persian 'Shah mat' which means 'The king is defeated.' Others argue the original phrase is instead Arabic, where it means 'The king is dead.'' He remembered the derisive curl of Gozaburo's upper lip as he had spoken to him about the etymology of the word. He also remembered Akhenaden's mocking laughter when he had suggested to him the strength of the young Pharaoh, his cousin. 

"The king is dead," Atem repeated softly, his gaze suddenly passing over Seto's shoulder, down from their secluded spot in the court gardens, up to never-changing blue skies.

The new set of memories that somehow were his but somehow weren't rose unbidden in his mind. While he had absorbed the entirety of moments his past self had lived through after a few days, the details of each memory were usually still unfamiliar. He was watching them much like a movie but with the uncanny feeling of being trapped in a lucid dream.

He felt and heard himself scream even though he wasn't screaming. There were words that he assumed, no, that he knew, were spells, familiar yet unintelligible. There were cries of 'No', of 'Don't' - of 'You can't leave me!' - and just like that day when he had finally walked right into Atem's afterlife, he was overwhelmed by the memory of how strongly his past self and the Pharaoh had been… connected. It was strange, having only just come to terms with his own  _ feelings _ for the Pharaoh, but knowing and understanding that Atem had been the love of his past self's life. 

He knew they were both struggling with the discrepancy of what they had been feeling for each other back then and what they were feeling for each other now. They both were different persons now, their characters shaped by another life and another time. 

He pushed those strangely alienated memories away with a long gulp from the cup of goat's milk - a beverage he had found refreshed his overheated body during the searing hours of their board games. He had not yet mustered up the courage to ask Atem what it had been like to die. And if he would fancy doing it again. Preferably after a long and gratifying span of years shared between them. 

His ship was waiting ever-ready. It had been for the last three weeks. Mokuba was waiting - there had been an unspoken hope in his brother’s eyes and an unspoken promise in his to be back for Seto’s birthday. The days were running like quicksand in an hourglass, boundless, elusive. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do if Atem chose to stay. The part of his memories that was so freshly inherited from that ‘other him’, to go by a term that Yuugi had coined, would not allow any thought to stray beyond this event horizon. He also didn’t know how to breach the subject. 

Atem’s eyes were back on him, were focussing on his forehead, assessing his frown, judging the tightness of his lips pressed together to hide gritted teeth, gauging the level of agitation behind the indigo drapes of his eyes. 

“You told me the king is never actually captured in chess.” 

The words were slow, curious, as if Atem was prodding carefully for a truth that he knew to be there but refused to forcefully drag out of its comfortable hiding place.

Seto nodded his affirmative. “The defeated player surrenders when they have concluded that they are indeed in checkmate and there is no way to win anymore.” 

Atem glanced at the board. His hand was absently twirling a steatite bishop the size of his little finger. A few seconds later he shook his head, apparently accepting defeat. 

“And yet,” he murmured and looked up at Seto once more, all accusatory purple. “And yet you have failed to accept my defeat, my surrender, more often than can be counted as exceptional. Back then. And now.”

Seto knew they were not talking about chess, but that didn’t make the answer any easier. The necessary sacrifice. The noble surrender. None of it rang true for his life, made any sense to the pathway of the events that had made him Seto Kaiba. Some of it seemed to be more easily graspable to his past self. Still, even that ‘other him’ had ultimately signed himself up to follow Atem’s soul through millennia, refusing to quietly await his turn in the afterlife.    
  


There was no noble sacrifice to be made this time. No obligation for the Pharaoh to accept. 

“The word ‘mat’ in Persian,” he began, haltingly, searching for the right way to express what he was feeling, “is in fact believed to have been slightly misunderstood in the sense that the phrase’s meaning is closer to ‘The King is stumped.’ or ‘The King is unable to respond.’ “

“Ah.” 

Atem glanced at the board one last time. A mischievous twinkle caught his eye and he moved one of his rooks. Confused, Seto glanced down as well and did a double take. 

“Three more turns. But it’s going to be a stalemate,” Atem announced in his most regal voice, leaning back in his seat with a soft rustling of figleaves behind him. “And I assure you, Seto Kaiba, that the King will remain neither stumped nor unresponsive.”

Seto’s mouth opened - but he closed it again to protect the quivering moment of hope in his heart. 

  
  



End file.
